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COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr 



THE FOUR GATES 



THE 

FOUR GATES 



BY 
REV. EDWARD F. GARESCHE, S.J. 



NEW YORK 

P. J. KENEDY & SONS 

1913 



T5 3^'^, 



COPYRIGHT, I9I3 \ ft I -i 

BY P. J. KENEDY & SONS 



JAN {5 I3i4 



THE -PLIMPTON -PRESS 
NORWOOD -MASS -U-S'A 



TO 
THE MOTHER OF FAIR LOVE, 
AND OF FEAR, AND OF KNOWL- 
EDGE, AND OF HOLV HOPE; 
THE MOST MERCIFUL; THE 
MOST LOVING AND SWEET 
VIRGIN MARY 



ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

Acknowledgments are due to the Editors of 
"America," "The American Ecclesiastical Re- 
view," "The Ave Maria," "The Catholic 
World," "Extension," "The Magnificat," 
"The Messenger of the Sacred Heart," 
"The Sacred Heart Review," and 
"The Rosary," for the kind 
permission to print poems 
to which they hold 
the copyright 



THE FOUR GATES 

Four are the gates 

To the splendors immortal, 
Which the slow Hours swing 

Open, and close. 

'Tis Heaven that waits 

Just past the portal 
Of Summer and Spring 

Of Autumn and Snows. 



CONTENTS 

SPRING 

PAGE 

Gratitude i 

At Sunrise 2 

To A Minor Poet 6 

To A Babe 7 

God's Tenderness 8 

At Seven Years Old 9 

The Giver 11 

Thy Will Be Done 12 

A Boy 13 

To A Holy Innocent 14 

In Every Heart 15 

God Is Full of Pity 16 

God's Home 17 

Solace 18 

Opportunity 19 

The Afterglow 20 

Proving 21 

In His Light 22 

The Trillium 23 

Fortune Was a Flower ....... 24 

Strike Home 25 

St. Joseph's Morning 26 

Joseph's Glories 27 

St. Joseph's Eloquence 28 



Contents 

PAGE 

"Last of the Patriarchs " 29 

Joseph's Thoughts 30 

A Little Child to St. Joseph 31 

SUMMER 

A Song of the Summer 35 

The Wren 36 

The Swallows 37 

The Voice of the Woods 39 

The Mullein 40 

At the Leap of the Waters 41 

The Vine 43 

Then! 44 

Burn, Burn, Sweet Fire 45 

Onward 46 

The Meadow of Prayer 47 

Why Wouldst Thou Rest? 48 

The Mirror 49 

His Power 51 

Tell it to Mother 52 

Figures of Mary 53 

Mother of Sorrows 54 

Her Memories 55 

A Son's Petition 56 

Mary's Thoughts 57 

Her Lessons 58 

Turn Thine Eyes upon Us 59 

AUTUMN 

The Passing Days 63 

Peace! 64 

Our Angel's Solace 65 



Contents 

PAGE 

As Angels See 66 

The Angels of the Sanctuary 67 

The Brave of God 68 

The First Mass 70 

The Young Priest 'j2 

To St. Stanislaus Kostka 73 

Before a Picture of St. Stanislaus ... 74 

Saint Maurice to the Theban Legion . . 75 

Glimpses 79 

Phantoms 80 

Traces of God 81 

To-morrow 82 

Some Little Thought 83 

If Thou Art Pure 84 

The Compass 85 

The Church of the Immaculata .... 86 

Forethought and Afterthought .... 93 

Thankfulness 94 

Daily Cheer 95 

Happiness 96 

Reviresco 97 

The King's Banquet 98 

WINTER 

Not Every Morn loi 

Truant Snowflakes 102 

Over Thee, Jerusalem 104 

Christ's Choice 106 

A Star, A Flower, A Spring 107 

Christ's Cradle ... 108 

Bethlehem and Calvary 109 

When Mary Looked on Jesus no 



Contents 

PAGE 

Jesus is Sleeping iii 

Gratefulness 112 

Ave Verum Corpus 115 

The Treasure of His Blood 116 

Foreshadowings 117 

What Does Jesus Prize? 118 

But One 119 

His Loneliness 120 

Christ's Comfort 121 

Christ's Silence 122 

Holy Shame 123 

He Waits 124 

St. John at Ephesus 125 

Deep Wounds 129 

I Stand at the Door and Knock .... 130 

Spiritual Communion 131 

Give it Me! 132 

Jesus, Mighty Lover 133 

Dawn and Even 135 

The Starry Melodies 136 

Thy Voice 138 

Our Years 139 



SPRING 



The Four Gates 

GRATITUDE 

HE lordly sun looked kindly on a 
_ wave, 

"*• A tiny wave that ran upon the sea; 

And, lol the wavelet brake with joy, and gave 

A very shower of grateful brilliancy, 
A thousand timid sparkles, every one 
An image of the sun I 



HP 



The Four Gates 



AT SUNRISE 

^ t |~~A WAS at the dawn's consummate flower, 

I — a morn, 

-*- Wondrous with dew-drops, and its 
vigorous air 
Fresh with a various-scented soul of Spring. 
Saint Francis, early on his outward way. 
Called to the wakening lark, and bade the sun— 
His brother Sun — to haste his lazy light 
Out of the East. 

A village hid near by; — 
An eager, tousel-headed urchin shrilled. 
Knowing the voice : " 'Tis Francis, haste and 

hear I" 
Then slow from sleepy morning tasks they come, 
The smiling folk — their brown arms bared for 

toil, 
The stains of labor on their roughened palms; 
And open-eyed and open-hearted too. 
They gather round to drink the holy word. 
Quick Francis blessed them — dear he loved the 

poor — 
And laughed as merry as the merry mom, 
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The Four Gates 

Then cried in gladness: "Lol Another day! 
How much God gives us, brothers, when He sends 
Another day! Ah, see the faithful sun 
Come shouldering through the mists to bring us 

all, 
Each lowliest waif among us, twelve bright hours, 
Paid one by one, in plenteous-pouring light, 
To live and love in, — live, and love our God I 

"This morning wind that mutters in the leaves, 
The babbling of the birds, that murmurous song 
That twitters from the blinking, new- waked fields, 
Cry: 'Love the Blessed God I' The blossoms wee 
That twinkle in the grass, with all their bells. 
Nod in strong concord; every spark of dew 
Glints gentle exhortation, and the clouds 
That flock like rosy doves across the dawn 
Sing silently together: 'Love our God I' 
O simple song of all the various world ! 
O myriad tones in one strong, sweet refrain ! 
O sermon of the sunrise, speaking still 
Of one fair text of love: 'Love God! Our 
God I' 



The Four Gates 

"Now, brothers, mourn not we are simple men, 
Unlearned, in devious turns of Art and Lore 
So we can hear this preaching of the morn. 
So we can breathe this reverential air, 
And feel the spirit of the adoring dawn, 
And while the tide of glorious day pours on 
Through all the radiant hours, to dash and drain 
On yonder ruddiest western sands of night. 
So we can bid our simple hearts sing on 
This morning canticle of praise and love, 
We have enough of Art, enough of Lore. 

"Oh, all the spangled flowers that dot the mead. 
Yon quivering wood and all the dewy wold 
And odorous air, and generous-pouring light 
That floods in benison across the world. 
Have but one heavenly, holy unison 
Which who hath heard, hath heard a great 

enough ; 
'Love God I' — Tis all, as all are from His love I 

"Then, brothers, as ye delve the mellow soil 
These misty mornings, or beneath the noon 
Drowse in the chestnut's shade, or weary plod 
Through the gray evening toward the lights of 
home; 

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The Four Gates 

Whether ye trim the tangle of the vine, 
Or follow moving flocks, — in sweaty toil 
Or twilight peace, or when the lavish night 
Hath decked the widowed heavens with golden 

stars, — 
Let not your hearts forget this one refrain 
Nor let your souls this heaven-writ teaching lose. 
This sermon of the sunrise, but for e'er 
Live it in all your hours — 'Love God I Love 

God!'" 

He ceased, and in th' expectant East brimmed full 
The day's wide glory; and the lowly throng, 
Their faces lit with morning lights of faith 
And dewy tears of love, dispersed to ply 
Their gladdened tasks, each sweetly murmuring 
Beneath his breath : "Love God I" 

And Francis, glad 
As the glad daylight, sang upon his way 
Across the dripping fields, and in his song 
Called clear to every hill and wood and wold; 
And every wood and hill sang clear again 
The burden of the sunrise : "God! Love God!" 



The Four Gates 



TO A MINOR POET 

THOUGH the song-sparrow cannot sing 
As the thrush and mocker do, 
Living melodies, a-wing, 
Hymning God the woodlands through; 
Shall the mocker's cunning flute 
Bid the sparrow's pipe be mute ? 

Though thou canst not sing as they, 

Poets of a mightier song, 
Skilled to sound their splendid lay 

All the wondering years along — 
Shall their grand, harmonious skill 
Bid thy lesser praise be still ? 



The Four Gates 



TO A BABE 

THOU eager, wee epitome of man ! 
So curious, so apt for any lore 
Of words, or faces never known be- 
fore; 
Groping, with tiny hands, for life's great plan! 

Scarce can thy lips the stubborn words compel. 
To lisp conjectures of that waking mind; 
But loving eyes thy looks a language find 

Where clouds and smiles thy little passions tell. 

Thou snowy page, new-opened to the light 
Fresh, babbling joy, in thy first blush of days! 
Lord, save these tiny feet in holy ways. 

Till this pink morn hath weary waned to night! 



The Four Gates 



GOD'S TENDERNESS 

LORD, Thy glory it is good to guess, 
Good to dream Thy Power's vast excess 
Even o'er the marvels that we see. 
Yet forever sweeter far to me 

Is Thy hidden, holy tenderness I 

Winter hath a wild and lonely air, 
Like a world outworn, abandoned there. 
Yet beneath the desolation rude 
Of that stark and wailing solitude, 

Tender Spring's surprises dost prepare! 

Spring, with fairy blossoms fleeting-bright. 
Fades too soon from our enraptured sight, 
But the blossoms, melting in perfume, 
Die to yield the rosy apples room — 
And Thy love hath planned the Summer's warm 
delight ! 



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AT SEVEN YEARS OLD 

GOULD little Jesus call the sun 
When skies were dark and dreary, 
And make the rain-clouds flee, and run 
And play till He was weary? 
If we were playmates now, would He 
Chase off this tiresome rain for me? 

And all the scary little birds 

That won't let me caress them, 
Would they come flocking at His words 

And chirp for Him to bless them? 
My mother says they would; from me 
They fly, and scold me from the tree. 

And all the nicest flowers that grow 

Too high for me to take them, 
They'd bend their tallest branches low. 

If Jesus would but make them. 
Oh, what a pleasant thing 'twould be 
To have Him here to play with me I 



The Four Gates 

But mother says that long ago 
He's grown and gone to heaven. 

I s'pose it can't be helped, — but, oh, 
If He were only seven, 

And sometimes, with His Mother, He 

Could come from heaven and play with me ! 



lo 



The Four Gates 



THE GIVER 

WHATEVER good God sendeth thee, 
Lo I 'tis a gift of gifts most free !- 
Thyself, in love benign 
At first He gave, then gave thee grace, 
And loved the image of His face 
Reflected faint in thine I 

He gave His Son, the Mother-Maid, 

The Holy Spirit's mighty aid. 
And all His bounties seven; — 
Then, hosts of Saints to plead and pray 
For further gifts; — and one bright day 

He waits — to give thee heaven I 



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The Four Gates 



THY WILL BE DONE 

THY will be done I" A sweet refrain 
To pagan lips unknown I 
How should they cry it in their pain 
To gods of clay and stoned 
Dark fate appalled them, every one, — 
They never dreamed: "Thy will be done I" 

O Blessed Lord, from Thee we heard 

This saying of the blest I 
A boon from heaven this holy word, 

To cherish in our breast; 
It echoes now from sun to sun 
In tender prayer — "Thy will be done !" 



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The Four Gates 



A BOY 

CHANGEFUL as March, as April gay; 
Strange, unsure as the young Year's 
weather ! 
Rude as the winds of a Springtide day, 
Loving and plaguing by turns and together; 
Rollicking, petulant, impudent, coy, — 
Bless me I a marvelous mixture's a boy. 



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The Four Gates 



TO A HOLY INNOCENT 

UDDEN to felicity, 

Heaven's herald summoned thee- 
Barely hadst begun to be I 



What a gulf, from shore to shore, 
Thou didst flee in safety o'er — 
Nothingness, to Heaven's door I 

Wrench and wound and toils and woe, 
Thou wilt never come to know 
All thou 'scapest here below! 

Nay — but guess it all, and pray 
For us others who delay 
Coming by a longer way I 



14 



The Four Gates 



IN EVERY HEART 

IN every heart God soweth seed — 
Some bloometh fair as day; 
Some groweth wild with meadow-weed, 
Or clambering vines, that wanton o'er, 
'Til fruit and flowers can spring no more 
But faint and fall away. 

Yet sun and showers were there at need — 
Blame we the tillage, not the seed. 



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The Four Gates 



GOD IS FULL OF PITY 

GOD is full of pity 
And of tenderness 
From His Holy City 
Low He leans to bless I 
Soon thy time of labor o'er 
He will glad thee evermore ! 

Men are all deceiving, 

God is ever kind, 
Meek His grace receiving 

Bend thee to His mind; 
Soon, thy sweat and sorrow past, 
Thou shalt see His smile at last ! 



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The Four Gates 



GOD'S HOME 

MOTHER, where does Jesus dwell?' 
Child, He dwelleth everywhere. 
In the earth, and in the air. 
In the wide, unending blue — 
Even on the farthest star, 
Where Creation's limits are. 
Past all ken of me and you I 

"Mother, hath He any home^" 
First, His home's in Heaven bright. 
Wondrous mansions, built of light; 
Then, the Tabernacle blest; 
But the home He loveth most, 
More than Heaven or Sacred Host, 
Is thy sinless, loving breast I 



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The Four Gates 



SOLACE 

SOMEWHERE in the skies, 
Far and far above thee, 
Saints with tender eyes 

Look for thee, to love thee. 
Somewhere in the shine 

Of the light Elysian 
Some bright throne is thine. 

Some ecstatic Vision; 
Some exulting song 

'Mid the Choirs Immortal, 
Place amid the throng 

Past the Heaven's portal I 
With some tender Name 

Jesus will receive thee. 
Some especial fame 

Mary's hands will weave thee. 
Send thy thoughts away 

Some sweet solace borrow; 
Flee the dull to-day 

In that fair to-morrow ! 



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The Four Gates 



OPPORTUNITY 

OF deeds, not days, a life is made. 
Yon watchers in the skies 
Must peer into our mortal shade 
With sadly-wondering eyes, 
And grieve our slothful hours are spent 
So foolish far from Heaven's intent I 

Each angel moment as it flies 
Brings hope of Heavenly gain; 

We stare with unregardful eyes, 
It leaps to Heaven amain. 

And bears too oft to Him above 

No lisp of prayer, no cry of love. 



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The Four Gates 



THE AFTERGLOW 

MILD sister to the silvery-vestured Dawn, 
Solace the widowed West with tran- 
quil gold. 
The Day from heaven hath rolled 
And all the flamings of his state are gone. 

Dark dreams the circle of dim shores before 
And daughters of the wave-enamored Moon, 
With silver-sparkling shoon 

Dance on the light lake's ever-twinkling floor. 

Soft on the headlands thievish shadows creep. 

Oh, still in tremulous glorv shine and glow! 

Thy parting step be slow, 
Ere all the shadowy world is lost in sleep I 



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The Four Gates 



PROVING 

EASY with breaths of duty fair 
To pay a wordy gift to God; 
To weave the wish and speed the prayer 
While stays the storm and spares the rod. 

Not this that proves thy metal true 

But courage in the bitter day, 
When clouds have swallowed all the blue 

And pain stalks threatening in the way. 

Forbid thy craven heart to weep, 

Compel thy soul to greet the pain; 

And bear unblenching up the steep. 

To drive thy stumbling heart and brain! 

Rudely, as who a sword would feel 

Doth wrench its blade, its spring doth scan 

To test the temper of the steel, — 
God proves the metal of a man I 



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The Four Gates 



IN HIS LIGHT 

I AM a mote in the beam 
Of the Infinite One. 
I am a glint in the stream 
He shine th upon. 
Fair, but with borrowed light, 

The light that He gave 
When He approved with His sight 
The mote and the wave. 

Like a planet I shine from afar 

With the grace that He gives. 
I live as the wandering star 

By the sunlight lives. 
This is my pride and my bliss 

While my hours shall run 
To shine e'en as dimly as this 

The praise of the Sun. 



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The Four Gates 

THE TRILLIUM 

(Wake-Robin) 

HERE'S a flower of wondrous kind 
Waving in the April wind, 
All in threes its parts combined; 
Three the dappled leaflets spread, 
Three the sepals arch o'erhead. 
And the petals, orderly, 
And the stigmas small, unrolled 
And the seed-pod, — all threefold! 
Must it not an emblem be, 
Three in one and one in three, 
Of the Blessed Trinity"? 



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The Four Gates 



FORTUNE WAS A FLOWER 



F 



ORTUNE was a flower, 
Youth and Joy together 
Sought it hour on hour 
Through the sunny weather. 



Youth hath twined it, weary, 
Round his silvered head, 

But he weepeth dreary 
Gentle Joy is dead. 



24 



The Four Gates 



STRIKE HOME 

IN the fresh-scented forest, dotted round 
With purple-clustered bloom, the woodman 
swung 
His rhythmic axe. And ever as it hung 
Poised still in air, — then bit with eager sound 
Into the sapwood, — it was joy to see 
How sure his aim, how true his arm uprose 
And drove unerring blows on sturdy blows 
Till groaned the trunk, and crashed the towering 
tree 

So in each worthy enterprise, no less 
Firm be our hand — our patient effort still 
That blow may follow tireless blow, and fill 
The careful meed of toil. So shall our stress 
And sweat and panting, by a constant will, 
Gain rest, and joy, and merit, — with success! 



25 



The Four Gates 



ST. JOSEPH'S MORNING 

SWEET on the listening airs of silent morn, 
To lonely streets the solemn church-bells 
sing. 
And every echo lends its mellow horn 

The long, slow clamor far and far to fling, 
His children, near and wide, 'round Joseph's 
shrine to bring. 

From square to square, from spire to spire they 
sound. 

While spreads the ruddy morning in the sky; 
Slow wind the early folk the church doors round, 

With gently thoughtful mien, and reverent eye; 
And dot the twilight aisles in prayerful modesty. 

Smile, Father mine, at this Thy festal mom. 
On these few toilers, faithful, lowly, pure. 

Thy dearest praise, as weary hours wear on, 
Shall rise from patient spirits of the poor. 

And in their humble tasks, Thine own meek toils 
endure I 



26 



The Four Gates 



JOSEPH'S GLORIES 

WHAT golden goodness shone in thee 
That Mary chose thy bride to be, 
And Christ thy foster-child; 
That angels, forth from Heaven sent, 
Woke oft thy love and wonderment, 
Thy grief and care beguiled! 

Take heart, ye lowly and ye poor; 

For Joseph's glories more endure 
Than wits and counsels keen. 

He from a cottage knew to rise 
Above the natives of the skies. 

The consort of their Queen I 



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The Four Gates 



ST. JOSEPH'S ELOQUENCE 

SO oft thou did'st with angels speak, 
And send thy heart on high, 
A silent man, of aspect meek 
Thou seemedst to mortal eye. 

But lords angelic at thy prayer 
To thee from Heaven were sent I 

Thy heart, — to men so silent e'er, 
With God was eloquent I 



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The Four Gates 



"LAST OF THE PATRIARCHS" 

LAST of the Patriarchs, with thee 
Bloomed the fair flower, virginity, 
From God's own gardens given. 
Threefold the snowy blossoms twine 
Round Jesu', Mary's heart, and thine, 
Nor miss the airs of heaven I 

Last Lord of David's House, alone 
Of Mary's self and Mary's Son, 

Guardian and lover true; 
Thou hadst His touch upon thy cheek. 
Thou heardst His baby wisdom speak, 

Whom but in dreams men knew. 

Last of the Prophets'? Nay I for thee 
Life was a breathless ecstasy, 

To which no voice was given. 
Some rapturous years thy spirit spent, 
Silent with love and wonderment. 

Then fled — and spake in heaven I 



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The Four Gates 



JOSEPH'S THOUGHTS 

JESUS' words and Mary's 
Oft the Gospels tell. 
Glad we read them over, 
Pondering them well. 
Sweetnesses of Heaven 
In the pages dwell. 

Then we gently wonder: 
"All the pages through 

Never word from Joseph?" 
Hark, the answer due: 

Jesus' thoughts, and Mary's, 
They were Joseph's, too. 



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A LITTLE CHILD TO ST. JOSEPH 

WITH Jesus and with Mary 
'Twas very sweet to bide, — 
Nay, in thy cottage lowly 
A very Heaven did hide I 

For e'en in Heaven's glory 

By yonder gleaming tide, 
With Jesus' light and Mary's, 

What canst thou see beside I 



31 



SUMMER 



The Four Gates 



A SONG OF THE SUMMER 

SUN and shower, shadow and shine; 
Breath of the meadow and scent of the 
vine: 
The fields new sown, and the grass new grown, 
And over the hills he comes, alone I 
Straight his form as a sapling sheer; 
Light his tread as the gracile deer; 
His tresses fair as the tasseled corn; 
His brow as bright as the blush of Morn; 
His eyes as blue as the lakes, that lie 
And smile in the gleam of the cloudless sky I 
And lo! the winter is all forgot 
With its wrack and its ruin, — it mattereth not I 
For the Sun smiles clear through the sobbing rain, 
And the Summer — the Summer hath come again ! 



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The Four Gates 



THE WREN 

HOW can I praise so slight a thing as thou, 
O merry atom of the rolling song I 
As brisk thou rangest all the paths 
along, 
To lift huge twig-beams to thy hollow bough. 
Dost build a cozy nest within? And how 
Wilt feed thy young, small father? Nay, I 

wrong 
Such patient cheer; thy little heart is strong, 
To hope great things from toil, nor fears allow. 

O little wren, brave builder all the day. 
And pausing but to lift thy voice and sing; 
Tis pleasant, sure, to see so small a thing 

So large in hope ; with firm assurance gay. 
That present needs a present aid shall bring. 

And He who sends the want, will send the way. 



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THE SWALLOWS 

SWIFT searcher of gray skies, at even-hour, 
When the broad West brims full with 
ebbing light; 
Far ranging in the blue, the easy power 
Of thy keen wing can tire the baffled sight, 
Thou restless hunter on the coasts of Night I 

And earliest Dawning swings thee forth again. 
That first comes tinting all the expectant sky, 
With the clear floods of day, the tinkling rain 
Of thy sharp song, comes dropping from on 

high. 
As thou dost dart, and swerve; nor seem'st to 
fly. 

No labor of the flapping wing is thine, 

Thy dipping speed doth lord it o'er the air; 

And in the skies, trace wide thine easy line 
Of changing flight, nor find resistance there; 
As one the fickle breeze is charged to bear ! 



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The Four Gates 

Unwearied atoms ! fed of cloud and wind, 

Ye dot the farthest deeps with specks of life; 

And weave wide mazes with your lonely kind 
In the high air, above the tuneful strife 
Of social song, in fields and woodlands rife ! 



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The Four Gates 



THE VOICE OF THE WOODS 

THE world is very green and good, 
The skies are very fair; 
Where late the wintry forest stood, 
A pomp of green is there; 
The murmur of the lisping wood 
Is like a thankful prayer. 

Poor soul-less trees — ^how sing they clear 

With such a grateful sound? 
'Tis as some pitying angel near 

Hath stooped him to the ground; 
And hiding in the freshness here 

Spreads thankfulness around I 



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The Four Gates 



THE MULLEIN 

NOW hail, thou cheery, bright-eyed senti- 
nel! 
Thou guard of many a grassy pasture 
dell, 
Above the clover; 

Straight-stemmed and tall, as peering from afar 
To see where yon the browsing cattle are 
And spy the rover. 

The wand' ring pathways bristle with thy bloom, 
Where mint-banks blow, and spread a sharp per- 
fume 
Across the hedges; 

And where the powdered highroad glaring runs, 
Thou dar'st the brilliance of the summer suns 
At meadows' edges! 

Dull eyes are pained, and blast thee as a weed. 
But still grow tall, and bloom, and cast thy seed 
As He hath told thee, 

Who set e'en weeds a time and place to grow. 
And keeps thee spite of man, that man may know 
Whose Hand doth hold thee I 

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The Four Gates 



AT THE LEAP OF THE WATERS 

HOW the swift river runs bright to its 
doom, 
Placid and shining, and smooth-flow- 
ing by. 
Blue with the gleam of the heavenly room. 

Smiling and calm, with the calm of the sky I 
Ah I but the plunge I and the shock and the roar, 
The spray of vast waters that hurl to the deep, 
The churn of its foam, as the measureless pour 
Of that wide-brimming torrent leaps sheer from 
the steep I 
Look ye; it reaches small fingers of spray 

To clutch at the brink, as unwilling to go 
Through the perilous air, and be fretted away 
In the tumult of vapor that boileth below. 
List ye I The voice of the huge undertone 

That murmurs in pain from the cataract's 
breast. 
Where the bruised, shattered waters perpetual 
moan. 
And wander and toss in a weary unrest. 



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The Four Gates 

Feel ye the breath of the cool-spraying mist, 

Cloudy and gray from the depth of its pain; 
Not as when sunbeams the waters have kissed, 

Rising in vapor to gather in rain, 
But fiercely and madly flung forth on the air, 

A shroud for this river that leaps to its death, 
A veil o'er the throes of the cataract there. 

And rolling and rent with its agonized breath! 
Wild torrent ! God put thee to thunder His name ! 

With the roar of thy waters to call to the sky 
Of His might, who hath set thee forever the same, 

To topple in foam to thy gulfs from on high. 
Loud hymn of the lake-lands! from shore unto 
shore. 

Still clamor His praises who called thee to be. 
Till the ears of the nations are tuned to thy roar, 

And they hear the vast message He trusted to 
thee! 



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The Four Gates 



THE VINE 

THY heart is fond, and it will cling 
To some beloved, endearing thing, 
Whether thou wilt or no. 
Tis as a soft embracing vine; 
Round a strong stem it yearns to twine 
And leaneth to and fro. 

Thy Lord is as a sturdy tree; 
His strong support He offers thee, 
To lift thee toward the sky. 
And all the lesser goods of earth 
Lure, with slim props of little worth, 
Along the ground to lie. 

Twine round thy God and climb in air, 
And bloom and ripe thy fruitage fair, 
Safe in the sunny height. 
But if along the ground thou stray, 
Poor tangled vine ! To waste away 
In snarled and evil plight. 



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The Four Gates 



THEN I 

GENTLE sun or shower, 
When the fields are fair, 
Rarely have the power 
To persuade to prayer. 

But when droughts are burning 
Or the floods are poured; 

Then, devoutly turning, 
How we pray the Lord! 



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The Four Gates 



BURN, BURN, SWEET FIRE 



B 



URN, burn, sweet Fire, O Flame Divine, 
Thine oil my life, my soul thy shrine I 
Bright increate, immortal Love, 
Dart keen Thy splendors from above! 



Burn, burn, strong Flame, nor spare, nor cease ! 

With every blast take bright increase, 
Till all my heart enkindled be — 

Alive with Fire, ablaze with Thee I 



45 



The Four Gates 



ONWARD 

CREATION waves thee onward, cries "Not 
here I" 
The glory of the summer's afternoon 
Points to the gilded even; evening's gold 
Wanes to the solemn night, o'erlit with stars. 
The brooding hosts of night, with silver beams, 
Beckon thy heart from earth, and bid thee raise 
Thy holy thoughts to Heaven. Heaven's array, 
The Thrones, the Dominations and the Powers, 
And all the souls that smile in glory, wave 
Thee onward still, forever cry; — "Not here I" 
Cast free thy struggling heart, and it will soar 
Past the clear halls of Heaven, and find its peace 
On the calm bosom of its Father, God. 



46 



The Four Gates 



THE MEADOW OF PRAYER 

PRAYER is a pleasant meadow, 
Where, for sunniest hours, 
Wide thou may'st wander, or linger 
Over the heavenly flowers. 

Life is a care-haunted city, 

Noisy with hurrying feet. 
Town-waif, who know'st not the meadows, 

Lovest thou thy turbulent street? 

Nay — ^but betimes from the tumult — 

Weary with passion and care. 
Turn from thy city of Babel — 

Come to the meadows of prayer I 



47 



The Four Gates 



WHY WOULD'ST THOU REST? 

WHY would'st thou rest*? The time is 
very brief 
Thy task to ply. 
These sunlight hours, when thou canst bind the 
sheaf, 

Run swiftly by; 
Soon must thou sink full weary to the breast 
Of gentle death, — why now dost sigh to rest? 

Why would'st thou rest when every golden hour 

Doth promise gain*? 
Brief, brief the span thou boldest in thy power — 

Few days remain. 
Haply full soon thou shalt be sore distressed 
When that calm Voice of God shall bid thee rest I 



48 



The Four Gates 



THE MIRROR 

IS the world so fair*? 
'Tis a mirror solely 
Lo, in-imaged there 
God, the good and holy. 

Earth and sun and sea 

Lakes and streams and fountains ;- 

Who hath wrought but He 

O'er the shaggy mountains'? 

On the world of dawn 
Smiles His sun awaking, 
Through the twilight wan 
Beams His sunset breaking. 

All the flowers that shine 
Dappling o'er the lawn 
'Tis a Hand divine 
Lays their colors on. 

Well He knows them all, 
How they ope and close 
Not a flower doth fall 
But the Maker knows. 



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The Four Gates 

All the busy day 
Yon from Heaven high 
Looks His sun alway 
Watching from the sky. 

All the weary night 
Stars that peer unsleeping 
Signal with their light 
God His watch is keeping! 

All they serve Him well 
Children good are they — 
Of their Father tell 
Through the night and day. 

Father dear and kind 
Through my life's few hours 
Bend me to Thy mind 
Like the stars and flowers. 

Help me labor on 
Good and mighty One 
Cheerful as the dawn 
Constant as the sun. 



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The Four Gates 



HIS POWER 



LORDS rule by largess; kings endow 
Their counts with gold, to serve awhile. 
But Thou, Rabboni, — only Thou 
Sway'st by the pleading of a smile. 



II 



Levi from all his gold departs, 

And Simon quits his nets, for Thee! 

What plea hath won their leaping hearts? 
Two words' sweet music — "Follow Mel" 



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The Four Gates 



TELL IT TO MOTHER 

TELL it to mother," — so we were told 
When we were lads, in the dear days 
of old. 
Then we would hearken, and tenderly creep 
Close to her side, at that soft: "Do not weep! 
Tell it to mother I" 

"Tell it to mother!" Babes still are we, 
Wayward and wild in our grief and our glee. 
Mary's our Mother. Oh, tenderly still 
Creep to her side when the world treats you ill! 
"Tell it to Mother!" 



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The Four Gates 



FIGURES OF MARY 

DEAR shrine of mercy, lowly home of love, 
Clear mortal lamp, where that immor- 
tal Light 
Deigned for a precious while to stay and shine. 
Whereat thy beauty grew so dazzling bright 
It rapt in wonder all the choirs divine — 
They hovered near to feed their glorious flame at 
thine I 

Thou'rt the white dovecote, where the Heavenly 
Dove, 
Folding His snowy wing, found stainless place, 
That oasis where God Himself took rest 

From the dry desert of our blasted race. 
And in the garden of thy stainless breast 
Made a new Heaven that paled the glories of the 
blest I 



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MOTHER OF SORROWS 

THOU hear'st the crying of all flesh to thee, 
Like to the sobbing of a far off sea, 
A sea of sorrow ! Oh, remember, thou 
Most tender mother, how those waves of woe 
Once overwhelmed thee, closed above thy brow. 
How thy heart wept with anguish I Even so 
Suffer the hearts forlorn that hail thee now. 
Ah, Queen of sorrow, bid their sorrows cease. 
Kneel to thy gentle Son and win them peace! 



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The Four Gates 



HER MEMORIES 

WHEN the little child, 
Innocent and lowly, 
Prays the Mother mild, 
"Make me pure and holy I" 
Then she seems to see 
Jesus at her knee. 

When the manly breast 
Groans in anguish, crying, 

'Thou of mothers best, 
Help, for I am dying I" 

Then — oh, gain in loss! — 

Then she sees the Cross. 



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The Four Gates 



A 



A SON'S PETITION 

MARY, true 'twas ever known 
Sons should like their mothers be 
Thou dost count me all thine own, 
Mother! If for that alone 

Mend me, make me like to thee I 



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The Four Gates 



MARY'S THOUGHTS 

WHEN hand in hand they wandered 
forth, 
His mighty world to see, 
What marvels Christ could tell to her 

Of sky and flower and tree, 
For though He was a tiny Child, 
All lore remembered He I 

Yet not the world His power had made 

Was Mary's thought and pride; 
Her little Son walked loving near 

Tender and trustful eyed! 
What recked she of Earth's fair array 

When Heaven was by her side! 



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The Four Gates 



HER LESSONS 

THY virgin flesh, more fruitful far 
Than all the tribes of mortals are, 
Made the reluctant ages see 
What glory hath virginity! 

Thy lowliness, in mighty wise, 
Hath drawn a Savior from the skies! 
How could the world, untutored, guess 
Such power is hid in lowliness'? 



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TURN THINE EYES UPON US 

TURN thine eyes upon us I 
Mother's eyes, that shine 
With the light they borrowed 
From the Babe Divine, 
While He lay and, loving. 
Fed His gaze on thine I 

Turn thine eyes upon us ! 

Gleaming bright with tears. 
Born with Jesus' weeping, 

In His griefs and fears. 
As His dying vision 

Searched the thankless years I 



59 



AUTUMN 



The Four Gates 



THE PASSING DAYS 

SWIFTLY the seasons come and go ; 
We greet them as they rise, 
And idly watch the hours flow, 
With unastonished eyes. 
Ah, dream we that our life's brief day 
Runs with those hours as swift away? 

We watch the springtime bloom and pass, 

Without a start of fear; 
Nay, but its blossoms are a glass 

That show our dwelling here, — 
Our silly lives, our blossom day 
Fleet with the flowers, as swift away ! 

We drink delight from Summer's shine 

And Autumn's rich perfume; 
But swift their sunny hours decline 

To Winter's barren gloom. 
Think how thy dear life's fruitful day 
To Death's dark hour so wanes away I 



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The Four Gates 



PEACE! 

TOO keen, too keen thy hurry and thy care ; 
Thy brain is weary with the whirl of 
things ; 
The world hath stolen thy heart all unaware. 
Thine eager thought in feverish circles swings. 

Peace! of the many goods thou cravest sore 
Which shall endure or which shall bring thee 
rest*? 
Life's draught, too sweet, but makes thee thirsty 
more; 
Life's swift burnt joys but leave a colder 
breast. 

Why love most dearly what doth least endured 
Who loves the least of earth the most is blest. 

Thou art too rich of heart — "Blest are the poor !" 
Drink that sweet wisdom from the Savior's 
breast. 



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The Four Gates 



OUR ANGEL'S SOLACE 

The Soul asketh: 

ART thou not weary, who dost keep 
Such long and loving ward, 
And while I wake and while I sleep 
Art ever near to guard; 
While reckless and ungrateful I 
So seldom dream that thou art by? 

Art thou not fain, betimes, to leave 

Thy thankless task and flee*? 
Thou hast so much to vex and grieve, 

So little joy in me I 
So oft I've made thee veil thine eyes, 
So little good behind me lies! 

'the Angel repUeth: 

Not so ! I gaze beyond the years 

To where thy days shall cease. 
And glory drown thy faults and fears. 

Thy woes be lost in peace. 
Then, freed of all mortality, 
Thou' It be an age-long friend to me I 



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The Four Gates 



AS ANGELS SEE 



A LITTLE deed, a little prayer, 
So slight we scarcely heed the while; 
A moment's love, — and what is there 
To make an angel smile*? 



II 



A little guile, a little sin. 

So brief our hearts no memory keep; 
A moment's hate, — ah, what is there 

To make an angel weep I 



66 



Y 



The Four Gates 



THE ANGELS OF THE 
SANCTUARY 

E linger here the livelong day, 
For 'tis your heaven to love and pray; 
But I must toil afar. 



O brothers, give this solace sweet, 
That ye, my proxies at His feet, 
My friends and pleaders are I 



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The Four Gates 



THE BRAVE OF GOD 

NOT plumed War, 
With galloping charge and far-flung 
threat of steel, 
And thunderous, soul-appalling cannon peal; 
And clamorous blows, and sickening din of strife 
Where crush the frantic lines, and sway and strive 

for life. 
Not plumed War doth show the brave I 

There is a madness in the battle-ire 
Amid yon crimson hells of marshaled fire. 
That stirs and sweeps the heady valor on 
Through passes, that, traversed, it scarce dares 

think upon I 
Not maddening War can boast the Brave. 

Not mortal Fame, 

With the long lists of lauding History 

Of men, who by all gallant ways that be 

Won thronging honors in their little days, 

And sleep in conscious stone, all fretted o'er with 

praise; 
Not mortal Fame can boast the Brave. 
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The Four Gates 

There is a frenzy in the touch of Power — 
A joy to fill men's thoughts one fading hour, 
That stings the soul to spend its utmost breath, 
Till all its tinsel gauds are filched by thievish 

Death: 
Not worldly Fame, can boast the Brave. 

God's eye alone. 

In quiet ways, where wars of bloodless kind 
Pale the firm lip, and tire the dauntless mind; 
Where Faith is constant in the storms of Hell, 
And angels wondering praise, that flesh can strive 

so well. 
God's eye alone doth mark His Brave. 

No maddening shouts of war, no crowd's acclaim 
Stir Christ's meek champions to the lists of fame; 
But with calm soul, they meet the utter pain. 
Court every pang, who strive for Love — their ut- 
most gain! — 
God's eye alone doth know the Brave! 



69 



The Four Gates 



THE FIRST MASS 



"TT^ 



IS o'er! — the waiting-time is past! 
That train of years that sped so fast, 
Has brought thee to the feast, — at last I 



That virgin Bread, — the fragrant Wine, 
Thy soul's desire, at last are thine. 
Thou tremblest at the board Divine I 

At last those words in rapture said. 

Can break the Heavens o'er thy head 
And bid thy God to be thy bread I 

He quits the splendors of the skies, 

Oh, moving love! — in meek disguise 
How lowly on thy hands He lies! 

But Mary's self, in days of old. 

So close His holy limbs could fold, 
So, in her bosom keep from cold; 

Tho' all the world is wintry drear, 

Through all thy days of service here 
Warm in thy heart that guest so dear! 
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The Four Gates 

Oft let Him feel thy bosom glow 

With sudden fire, — that He may know 
Seraphic flamings, here below. 

Oft for the tribes of men beseech, — 

Thou hast a charge for all and each, 
Strive with thy Lord in loving speech. 

And, Priest for all Eternity, 

Whene'er that spotless Host dost see, 
Plead for us all, who honor thee I 



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The Four Gates 



THE YOUNG PRIEST 

HE stands before the altar of his God, 
Clad in symbolic vesture, and his hands 
Are raised in intercession ; candid youth 
Is on his brow, and in his eyes there glow 
Propitiatory fires of strong love 
And supplication, — eagerness, yet fear, 
Commixt of awe and longing. And he seems — 
Lit by the flaming tapers , and so pure 
Of garb and aspect, — not of earthly mold. 
Nor framed of clay, but as a spirit free. 
Stooped from his lofty choir, awhile to pray 
Before the dwelling of his Prisoned Lord ! 



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The Four Gates 



TO ST. STANISLAUS KOSTKA 

A SWEET intemperance of holy love, 
And the keen flaming of that chaste 
desire 
Which wore thy flesh like inly-burning fire, 
Took thee untimely, thou celestial dove I 

Untimely^ Nay, thou never lived'st in time! 
Thy soul, impatient of his dull delays 
O'erleapt his weary bars of hours and days, 

Rushed for its Goal, and won a sudden prime. 



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The Four Gates 



BEFORE A PICTURE OF 
ST. STANISLAUS 

l!he Gazer saitli: 

HOW fair the painter's hand hath shown 
Yon blest, untutored child I — 
His brow as bright as marble stone, 
His smile so angel-mild; 
Those gentle eyes, upturned fore'er 
In virgin ecstasies of prayer. 
He 'scaped the evil ways of life, 
Nor knew the peril nor the strife. 

The Seer replieth: 

Ah, say not so I Thou ill hast read 

The legend of his days: 
His heart with anguished sorrow bled, 

He fought through weary ways. 
No grief his lovely look doth hold, 
Nor trace of fires the chastened gold. 

For 'tis a gift to virgins given. 

To guard on earth this smile of heaven. 



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The Four Gates 



SAINT MAURICE TO THE 
THEBAN LEGION 

SIX thousand and six hundred strong, they 
stood 
Untrembling; and with one unmoved ac- 
cord 
Spake to the threatening Maximilian thus: 
"We are Christ's soldiers first — yours afterward. 
Command what He forbids not, and we rush 
Through very hells of battle at your word. 
But offer incense to your demon-gods 
We will not. Hence it is we stand apart 
Nor join your pagan sacrifice. Our arms 
We will not raise against you; it were joy 
To die for Christ as He hath died for all." 

Then spake the loud imperial herald thus: 
"This is the will of Csesar: — Ye refuse 
To do his bidding, — mutineers ye die I 
Twice shall each tenth man in your legion fall. 
As the lot falls. And know — if this avail 
No whit to move ye, — then the army comes 
To slay you where ye stand. Obey, or die I" 
And grim he strode away. 

IS 



The Four Gates 

Then Maurice spake — 
Their saintly leader — on their shields upraised. 
"Men of Christ's Theban Legion, hearts of 

gold, 
I speak not to conifirm your dauntless souls. 
I know ye, brothers; never battle-morn 
Saw braver, gladder lightnings in your eyes 
Than flash at thought of yonder threatening 

swords 
That make us martyrs. Blither ne'er ye were 
To grapple bloody death, than when he comes 
To crown you Christ's forever. Nay, I speak 
Not to confirm but purify. 'Tis well 
Being so near to heaven, we make our hearts 
Most heavenly, lest any earthly fire — 
Some spark of sudden anger, unawares 
Struck out by taunting word, or slaughterous 

sword; 
Some leaping of revenge, some hot desire 
To answer curse with curse and blow with blow — 
Taint with the smoke of earthly passion, this 
Our martyr-holocaust to Christ our Lamb. 

"For ye are warriors, — ye have learned to pay 
Thrust with quick thrust, and bloody wounds for 
wounds ; 

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The Four Gates 

To make a bulwark of your whirling swords 

And meet the maddest fury of the foe 

With iron resolution, stabbing back 

For each fierce stroke a fiercer recompense; 

And counting every death a welcomer fate, 

Than meek submission. But Christ's warriors 

know 
A higher, holier valor. Look ye all 
Where He doth hang on Calvary! O God! 
O Wounded Love ! O brave, to be so mild ! 
The Lord of Might! — The Lamb of Sacrifice! 
One gesture of yon wounded Hand would spin 
The universe to chaos : and It rests 
Meek on the blood-stained wood! The slightest 

sound 
Of that sweet voice would start the fires of Hell 
Up through the craggy earth to scorch and sear 
His puny torturers; — and list! 'Forgive! 
Father, forgive! — they know not what they do!* 
O patient Conqueror ! O noble wounds ! 
O Model of all heroes! How He bids 
To suffer and repay not, — for His Love! 
Then let no man uplift a threatening sword, 
Then let no heart repay hot words with hate, 
Nor any eye flame up with angry fires. 
But for yon darkened emperor and his host, 

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The Four Gates 

Pray we, as Christ for us; — and die like lambs 
As He, our Lamb, died meek on Calvary I — 
Men of the Theban Legion ! Loose your arms I" 

The clamor of their crashing steel uprose, 

A thunderous hymn, to Heaven, — shields and 

swords 
They flung them down, and all that glorious band 
Gave each his dauntless bosom to the thrust — 
All meek and brave like Him of Calvary! 



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The Four Gates 



GLIMPSES 

VAINLY, Lord, the mind of man 
Frets to trace Thy great design ; 
Hid is all the perfect plan, — 
Not a gleam and not a line I 
Then, betimes, and all undue, 
Comes a flash the darkness through, 
And the tiny part we see 
Hints Thy finished harmony I 



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The Four Gates 



PHANTOMS 

ALAS, that phantom-hopes and phantom- 
fears 
And phantom-love stir most the heart 
of man, 
Through all the changes of his foolish years, 

Through all the yearnings of his narrow span — 
Then, as it is, the hollow world appears. 

Only when Grief hath washed our eyes with 
tears. 



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The Four Gates 



TRACES OF GOD 

ALL that's fine and rare 
Pure and true and kind, 
Gentle hearts that love us, 
Skies that smile above us, 

In them all we find 
Savior dear and true. 
Tender hints of You. 

You are strong and fair, 

You are kind and holy; 
Far beyond their measure, 
Yet we find a pleasure 

From these traces lowly 
Yet so fair — to guess 
Your all-loveliness. 



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The Four Gates 



TO-MORROW 

WHO hath ever seen to-morrow*? 
Life is but a long to-day; 
What your thievish dreamings borrow 
They can never more repay, 
Seeking vain surcease of sorrow 
In the cloudy far-away. 

All your empty, fond foreseeing 

Is a frail and fruitless flower I 
Past and future — lost and fleeing — 

Now's the sum of all your power, 
And the focused lights of being 

Blaze upon the present hour! 

In the Now that God bestoweth 
Spend, nor spare, your best endeavor. 

Swift Time's mighty breaker floweth, 
On the crest you're swept forever 

Naught the misty future oweth, 
And thy past returneth never I 



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The Four Gates 



SOME LITTLE THOUGHT 

SOME little thought that steals to God away 
When all thy other thoughts are busy 
here, 
And saves one moment from the fretful day 

To spend in pleading at thy Father's ear, — 
Some loving thought may bring thee riches more 
Than all the weary hours that went before. 



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The Four Gates 



IF THOU ART PURE 

IF thou art pure, like lilies from the slime, 
Fair thoughts shall greet thee from the pools 
of time; 
Where sordid eyes but sordid mire can see, 
A thousand gracious joys shall flower for thee I 



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The Four Gates 



THE COMPASS 

THE sailor's slender guide of steel, 
Looks constant to the pole. 
Though winds may rave, and breakers 
reel, 
And ships go shuddering to their keel, 
It ever keeps the goal. 

One thrill of fire hath taught it sol 

Oh touch with charity 
My heart — and then, though billows rise 
And storms go clamoring to the skies, 

A steadfast guide 'twill be. 



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The Four Gates 



THE CHURCH OF THE 
IMMACULATA ' 

HERE is a shaggy hill that struggles free 
From the swart city's peopled wilderness, 
A little nearer God, a little high 
Above the stress and clamor of the world, 
And on the bold hill's brow, a temple stands, 
Serene and simple, rising from the earth. 
As though itself were earthly, yet fore'er 
Stretching to heaven. Its door is open wide, 
And lowly folk are there, who whisper prayers 
Or sob awhile, or smile at Mary's face 
Wrought tenderly in marble. All within 

1 There stands on the brow of Mt. Adams in Cincinnati, a 
stone church dedicated to the Immaculate Conception. Its 
position on a commanding height, which rises suddenly from 
the smoky river bank, makes it a striking feature of the city 
front, while there cluster around it some remarkable customs 
and traditions. It is said that the statesman Adams, for 
whom the hill is named, declared, at the dedication of an 
astronomical observatory there, that here at least the cross 
should never come to domineer over science. Two cross- 
tipped spires now top the hill. There is a devout custom 
among the Catholics thereabouts of ascending very slowly 
the long stairs which lead to the church, and with a prayer at 
every step, to commemorate the Passion on Good Friday. 
The sight is a remarkable evidence of simple faith and devo- 
tion. 

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The Four Gates 

Is twilight reverence, and the tender thrill 
More eloquent than tongues, that shakes the heart 
From yonder Hidden Presence. 'Tis the throb 
Of that great Heart, still leaping 'neath the veil 
That hides, not stills it. Unregarded love I 
Unthought of, yet unending — lonely Christ 
Because Thy love hath distanced all our thought! 

About, above, the wild air hath its way. 
The winter's gale, careering livelier here. 
Raves round the spire, the lingers of the rain 
Pick at its crannied stones, the summer's heat 
Makes the strong sunshine quiver on its walls — 
But still that peace within, heart's ease, surcease ! 
Beneath, the city lies, begrimed with toil. 
Seen through the rollings of its vaporous shroud, 
Filling the vale with dust and din of trade, 
Wailings, and shouts of merry lads at play. 
The harsh, quick breath of engines, and the roar 
Of laboring factories, sounds that blended rise. 
Like a hoarse litany, to where Mary stands 
Carven in stone, on the roof's topmost verge. 
Watching o'er all her world, unwearying, 
Mother of men. And oft the red-eyed morn 
Hath waked the dim hill and the slumbering town 
With unregarded splendor, gorgeous noon 

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The Four Gates 

Hath touched the smoke-drifts with unvalued 

gold, 
And oft the thickening mantle of the night 
Shrouded the sable city, till the lights 
Brake from a thousand windows, and the gloom. 
Sparkling all diamonded with sudden stars, 
Out-stared the midnight heavens — more black 

than they, 
More thickly sown with fiery brilliancies, 
Till the wan morn crept weary from the east 
And bid them pale their beams — but still she 

stands. 
And still sweet Mary watches all the world, 
Uplifted, unregarded, merciful 
Most, where her mercy finds no gratefulness — 
Pleading for good and evil. And above 
Gleams the sweet emblem of the Crucified 
Bright on the darkened heavens. 

Runs the tale. 
Or true or false I know not, yet I know 
That in its inner meaning it is true. 
That one, far-famed for wit and eloquence, 
Speaking one morn to festive multitudes. 
Who gathered round a new-built dome where men 
Nightly should turn their lenses to the stars, 
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The Four Gates 

Gleaning the golden harvests of the sky, 
Spake boastful, "Here upon this windy height 
Is Science free ! No bigot's frown shall here 
Check her sublime outwanderings — never here 
Shall flame the slavish emblem of the Cross !" 



O frantic boast! and that was long ago I 
Where now the dome? Two churches rule that 

hill, 
Crowned each with Christ's meek emblem, hum- 
bly high! 
Proud Science! still God's mighty fanes must 

come 
To crown thy dearest summits. Time tries all, 
All works and toils he tries, for false and true. 
The false, his own, he crumbleth, truth hath 

naught 
From Time, nor Time can take from truth. 
And so thy truth shall stay, a mountain heaved 
To lift aloft the higher truths of God — 
To higher bear the emblem of the Cross ! 
So thy dross crumbleth, but thy gold remains 
To honor goodness — all truth praiseth Truth — 
God's Church fears but thine error, that shall die, 
Then she will love thee wholly! 



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The Four Gates 

Lol the fane 
Heaves its gray walls against the western sky, 
An emblem of the changeless cares of God ! 
Its walls are builded of a shelly stone, 
The hardened ooze of ages. In what blank 
Primordial night, or from the sobbing breast 
Of what primeval and forgotten wave 
Rose up its massy ridges, or how long 
Fell the soft shells in showers to make the stone, 
God knoweth only I Then He built for now, 
Now builds for undreamed ages, ever thus 
With long prevision, through the gaps of time, 
Worketh His prescient Will, nor swift nor slow, 
Building eternal temples. Trust Him yet I 
How did the blind worms, in their limy beds 
Dream they were building high a fane to God ! 
He wills the slight deeds of our petty days — 
Each trifling as a shell — shall fall in showers 
To the dark fathoms of forgetful pasts. 
Till Time's deep sea shall heave, and from its 

breast 
Cast up the treasured merits of our lives 
Grown to pure, gleaming marbles, fit to build 
The Heavens' city. Now we cannot dream 
Those bright, eternal mansions. Trust and wait ! 



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The Four Gates 

Gaze toward the shaggy summit — yonder stair 
That trails its dark way down the rude hill's 

flank 
Is that the stair of penance? There at noon 
That sweet, sad day on which our Savior died, 
Throng the devout and simple, every one 
Intent on his own purpose, wisely bent 
On his own cure, and scorning curious eyes, 
Climbs painful up this summit, step by step. 
As Christ went up to Pilate, moving slow. 
And at each tedious moment breathes a prayer. 
Craving his sins' forgiveness — touching scene I 
Is this the age of scoffers? Gentle God 
Still live Thy lowly martyrs — witnesses 
Who in the proud front of the sneering world 
Bear Thy sweet shame, and lift Thy holy cross. 
One time the joy of princes. Tenderly 
Thy prescient eyes forever blessed the poor — 
Thy poor shall never leave Thee ! 

Slow from the city's breast upbreathes a night 
Of noxious vapors, and the smoky veil. 
Ere yet the pitying skies beam forth their stars 
To cheer the dusk — whelms roof and tapering 
spire 



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The Four Gates 

And wraps the church in shadow. Fare thee well 
Dear guardian of the hill ; keep well the world 
Through the dim night, till smiles thy tower with 
dawn I 



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The Four Gates 



FORETHOUGHT AND 
AFTERTHOUGHT 

WHEN golden morrow greets thee bright, 
Shake off the slumbers of the night, 
Look o'er the hours glad before, 
And with a cheery spirit say: 
"Due service to my Lord I'll pay 
Ere darkness stay my hand once morel" 

When sober even bids thee cease. 
Look backward o'er the day's increase. 

Weep for the hours that sped in vain, 
Cry : "Well-a-day my Lord ! I'll try 
A busier hand for Thee to ply 

When morrow gilds the skies again I" 



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THANKFULNESS 

WHEN souls are groaning 'neath some 
great distress, 
What fluent prayers the hurrying lips 
express I 
Ah! but the Lord our stammering words must 

guess, 
When the dull heart turns slow to thankfulness. 



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DAILY CHEER 

THOU pitiest thy friend's distress, 
When sore thou see'st him fall, 
But of his daily weariness 
Thou thinkest not at all I 

Cheer for his lesser woes and needs 

In gentle pity keep — 
Those thousand kindly little deeds 

That make the heart to leap! 



9S 



The Four Gates 



HAPPINESS 

HAPPINESS is not without thee, 
Not in hoarding nor in spending- 
Not in pomp of friends about thee. 
Though the world should jeer and flout thee, 
All its wrath in clamor ending, 

Ere it reach thy heart's strong portal 
All may die in sound and shouting, 
And thy gladness be immortal. 

'Tis the heart's repose and peace. 
Strong in greed's and hate's surcease. 

Dowered with the graces seven, 
Joyous in its sin's release. 

Glad of earth and sure of heaven ! 



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REVIRESCO 

CEASE, bitter tears, or be ye turned to 
sweet I 
She must away, her toilsome days com- 
plete. 
And rest a while at her dear Master's feet. 

Long hath she sown beneath the sun and rain, 
Long hath she flung abroad the generous grain, 
And now must home, to wait her golden gain. 

For who hath labored in the fields of grace. 
Hath fed the poor, and found the orphan place, 
Death only calls apart, to bide a space. 

He steals not on her, shuddering in the haze — 
With eyes of tender hope she walks his ways. 
Toward the rich promise of her holy days I 

The seed is sown ! Ah, at the dawn of doom. 
In what green glories, what celestial bloom, 
Shalt thou spring up, dear heart, from out the 
tomb! 

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THE KING'S BANQUET 

DOWN in the golden valleys 
The ripe wheat nods and sways 
Unto the winds of Summer, 
Through all the dreamy days. 

Far on the vine-clad hillside 
The purpling clusters swing, — 

The grateful Earth doth furnish 
The table of her King! 



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WINTER 



The Four Gates 



NOT EVERY MORN 

NOT every mom the East shall bring thee 
cheer, 
And hopeful earnest of another day. 
Coin the bright hours, for all thy holding here 
Doth fleet away ! 

Not every even shall the parting sun 

Calm thee with promise of another dawn, — 
Some eve thy friends shall whisper one to one, 
Lo, he is gone I 

For dawn and morning fade to twilight's rest. 

To winter sleep these summer woodlands nod; 
The stream runs swiftly to the ocean's breast. 
And thou to God I 



loi 



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TRUANT SNOWFLAKES 



M 



OTHER WINTER called them home. 
But the little flakes of snow, 
Longing with the clouds to roam, 
Didn't want to go. 



"Let us bide till Spring," they say; 

"See the bluebirds come again, 
With the little blossoms play. 

And the laughing rain." 

So they went unwillingly; 

And a naughty northern wind 
Whispered, "Hasten back with me," 

Falsely seeming kind. 

And the little snowflakes came. 
Floated down among the flowers, 

Whitened on the tulip-flame, 
Scared the sunny hours; 



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Melted on the greening grass, 
Fainted in the languid weather; 

'Neath the beaming sun, alas I 
Vanished altogether. 

See the warning written here*? 

'Mongst Oh, many, many others! 
Little children, this is clear, 

Better mind their mothers I 



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OVER THEE, JERUSALEM 

I 

OVER thee, Jerusalem 
Lo, the Lord doth rise ! 
Glory shines from Bethlehem 
There thy Savior lies. 
Waken thee, Jerusalem, 
Dawn is in the skies. 

II 
Over thee, Jerusalem, 

Pale the heavens are; 
Lo, from little Bethlehem 

Cometh up a star. 
Hearken thee, Jerusalem, 

Haste the Kings afar I 

in 
Over thee, Jerusalem, 

Angels gather bright, 
Faring on to Bethlehem 

Toward the rising light. 
Sleepest still, Jerusalem'? 

'Tis the Holy Night! 



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IV 

Over thee, Jerusalem, 
Heaven's banners blow. 

Yonder into Bethlehem 
Simple shepherds go, 

More than thou, Jerusalem, 
They their Maker know. 

V 

Near to thee, Jerusalem, 
Stripped of Heaven's state, 

In the grot of Bethlehem, 
Near thy haughty gate, 

Meek He bides, Jerusalem, 
Meek thy Lord doth wait. 

VI 

Over Him, Jerusalem, 
Now the shepherds weep, 

Ox and ass in Bethlehem 
Mute their vigils keep. — 

Proud and dark Jerusalem 
Thou art drunk with sleep I 



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CHRIST'S CHOICE 

HY breast is very bleak and bare, 
A narrow place and poor ; — 
How should thy Lord find lodgment 
there? 
Its coldness how endure? 



T 



But ah! Christ loveth very dear 
The poor and bitter part I — 

He hastes to fill with angel-cheer 
The stable of thy heart! 



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A STAR, A FLOWER, A SPRING 

WHEN Jesus like a lovely star 
On Mary's bosom lay, 
Then all earth's shadows fled afar, — 
For her 'twas always day. 

When Jesus like a tender flower 

Bloomed fair in Nazareth, 
She never saw the wintry hour, — 

Spring lingered on His breath. 

Which of the ages fled away 

Hath dreamed so strange a thing? — 

One Star to make perpetual day I 
One Flower to breathe a Spring! 



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CHRIST'S CRADLE 

THE Maid hath lulled her Babe to rest,- 
O holy Babe, O Maiden blest I — 
Upon the cradle of her breast I 

The purest couch in earth or sky, 
Ah dearest bed, with veiled eye 
Upon His Mother's heart to lie I 

It rocks Him soft while every beat 

A tale of love doth low repeat, 
Or heaveth now with sighs more sweet! 

God lists the tender lullaby, — 

Nor all the choirs of heaven high 
Dare with that song in sweetness vie! 



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BETHLEHEM AND CALVARY 

THE weary eve is falling now, 
Oh, where shall Jesus rest? 
Full sweetly sinks His baby brow 
And lies on Mary's breast. 
His aching Heart forgets its care, 
And balmy slumbers soothe Him there. 

Again the sun is in the west 

Again His weary brow 
Leans from the cross. Oh, gentle rest, 

Where shall He find thee now*? 
Peace, bleeding brow, thy tortures o'er 
On Mary's breast thou' It sink once morel 



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WHEN MARY LOOKED ON JESUS 

WHEN Mary looked on Jesus, 
Ah, ne'er so sweet and mild 
Looked such a loving Mother 
Upon so blest a Child; 
Nor on her God and Brother 
A Maid so undefiled ! 

When Jesus looked on Mary, 

His gaze was ne'er so kind. 
Omnipotence had made Him 

This Mother to His mind; 
And far from Heaven He'd wandered 

This Queen for Heaven to find I 



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JESUS IS SLEEPING 

JESUS is sleeping I 
Clamors the gale, 
Wild waves are sweeping 
High as the sail, — 
But Jesus is sleeping I 

Jesus is sleeping I 

The mad waters rave, 
Dashing and leaping; 

Who is to save 
When Jesus is sleeping! 

Jesus is sleeping! 

Cower we here, 
Wailing and weeping, 

Heartsick with fear, — 
For Jesus is sleeping! 

Jesus is sleeping! 

Why do ye weep? 
Is He not keeping 

Watch in His sleep? 
Sleep, cares and weeping, — 

Jesus is sleeping! 

Ill 



The Four Gates 



GRATEFULNESS 

9 A I AWAS weary even. All the glaring day 
I The patient Lord had healed the multi- 
-■- tude ; 

No depth of sickening wound, — no mortal ill, 
No pang of heart or frame, — of suffering mind 
Or tortured limb, but Jesus' loving hand 
Had soothed with healing, and the sinners heard : 
"Go thou in peace, thy sins are pardoned thee." 
At last the weary shadows stretched along, 
And all the world was tinted to a glow 
From western fires, and the throng was gone. 
Then He Whose touch upholds the cumbrous stars 
Sighed wearily and sate Him on a bank. 
His own around Him, and He rested there. 
But one, from his full heart, spake bold and said : 
" Are they all gone I — all thou didst heal I for 

shame I 
All day they bided in the burning glare 
And moaned to Thee, — and when Thou laidst 

Thy Touch 
On their sore, tortured limbs, and madest them 

whole, 

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They should have spent the utter night in praise. 
Yea, followed all Thy ways, and chanted hymns 
Of burning thankfulness, — nay, used the years 
Thy Hand hath purged from torments, for Thy 

praise." 
Then spake another: "O Thou Bounteous Lord, 
If Thou hadst given to me as unto these, 
Hadst cleansed me, leprous, from that scaly death. 
Cleared me of haunting devils, bade the life 
Course through my withered arm, — unbound the 

ties 
Of eager speech, or bade the longed-for light 
Pour thy glad world into my quickened eyes, 
I would have made the universal earth 
A witness to my healing; would have cried 
In every city of the tribes of men, — 
Yea, given Thy Holy Name to solitudes. 
And with the echoes of my thankful voice 
Bade the waked deserts praise Thee !" Then they 

all 
Stood sponsors to his thought. "And II — And 

I!" 
And Jesus turning, looked upon them all : 
"Which one hath more of Me — he whom My 

Hand 
Hath healed of leprous sores, and piteous limbs, 

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Freed of Hell's sieges, giv'n the light of noon, 
After long days of darkness, anguish, shame ; — 
Or you, My Own, whom that same Hand hath 

kept 
From every haunting evil, all your hours; 
Owe ye less thankfulness, that ye are spared, 
Than if I healed you, stricken? — let us on I" 
Then, pensive-browed, with eyes all misty-wet, 
They followed in His steps, their hearts a-storm 
With sudden shame, and bursting gratitude. 



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AVE VERUM CORPUS 

(A Translation) 

HAIL, true Body, truly born 
Of the Virgin, Mary mild ! 
Truly offered, racked and torn, 
On the Cross, for man defiled ; 
From Whose love-pierced, sacred Side, 
Flowed Thy true Blood's saving tide, — 
Be a foretaste sweet to me 
In my death's great agony, 
O Thou loving, gentle One, 
Sweetest Jesus, Mary's Son! 



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THE TREASURE OF HIS BLOOD 

EACH moment Thou art crucified, 
They nail Thy dear Hands to the wood, 
They spill the treasure of Thy Blood, 
They pierce Thy Heart ere Thou hast died. 

More cruel than the Jews are these; 

They hated Thee, but knew Thee not; 
These mock Thy Heart's kind agonies, 

Thine age-long benefits forgot. 

When shall the Resurrection be^ 
O bid Thy glory rend the tomb I — 
When shall Thy slayers dread their doom? 
When shall Thy just be saved and free*? 



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FORESHADOWINGS 

BUT once the gentle Savior died, 
Yet all His days were Passiontide : 
The dawning, dewy-eyed and dim, 
Foreshowed that awful day to Him ; 
The withered noon's untempered power 
Foretold the Cross and marked the hour; 
And in the glooms of veiling night, 
He saw those shadows quench the light, 
On Calvary's predestined height. 



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The Four Gates 



WHAT DOES JESUS PRIZE? 

WHAT does Jesus prize? 
Gifts of gilded treasure, 
Where the dazzled eyes 
Dream with dancing pleasure? 
Towers that touch the skies, 

Domes of mighty measure, 
These doth Jesus prize? 

Nay, but He doth love 
Words in kindness spoken, 

Thoughts that dwell above. 
Holy vows unbroken. 

Meekness like the dove, — 
More than fane or token. 

These doth Jesus prize! 



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BUT ONE 

WHAT angel would outwait the years, 
'Mid cold neglect and heartless jeers, 
To gain some love and tender tears ^ 
There is but one, there is but one, 
That hath the dreadful gauntlet run, — 
No angel He; God's very Son I 



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HIS LONELINESS 

THE sons of men keep cheerful company, 
And ease their hearts with converse 
kind and free, 
While social earth and friendly skies give cheer. 
The woodland, clear and long 
Singeth its mingled song, 
And busy murmurs lull the city's ear. 

One only, sad and lone, 

Maketh His gentle moan 
In the still twilight of His lowly shrine; 

Few friends to comfort Him, 

Where, in His chapels dim. 
On empty aisles the flickering tapers shine! 

Alas ! what folly this I 

Shall we, in heaven's bright bliss, 
That soul -enthral ling smile forever see. 

If in His vigils here 

We, bent on selfish cheer. 
Will bear our lonely Lord no company? 



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CHRIST'S COMFORT 

HEART of hearts, where leaps the fire 
Of a constant, fond desire 
For the wayward loves of men; 
Now our tinsel trifles hold us, 
Now the mist of flesh enfolds us, — 
Blurs and clouds our feeble ken. 

Nay, but sometime, gentle Lover, 
Death will drive them, and discover 

All Thy charms, that angels see! — 
Then, the gauds of life forgetting, — 
Through the Suns that know no setting, 

All our love, is all for Thee I 



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The Four Gates 



CHRIST'S SILENCE 

THOU wast silent, Savior — why'? 
"Ah, My love had willed to die, 
Had I spake, My slightest plea 
Would have gained Me liberty — 
Left eternal chains for thee I" 

Thou wast silent, Savior — why? 
"Lo, I could not make reply." 
"Thy disciples," Pilate said, 
"Are they faithless all, or fled?" 
Jesus, silent, hung His head. 

Thou wast silent, Savior — why? 
"Teaching thee to not reply 
To the speech of ill-intent. 
Words are vain, and vainly spent — 
Silence most is eloquent." 



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HOLY SHAME 

LORD, who in the garden's shade 
All my debt of anguish paid, 
Dared and bore the Roman's doom, 
God, who on the bloody tree 
Hung a victim slain for me, 
God, whose glory split the tomb! 
All Your painful works and ways 

Slow I ponder, drinking long 
Of the love Your life displays, 
Till a holy tender shame 
Wakes at whisper of Your Name, 
That, for all Your love, I still 
Love so little, love so ill. 
Grieve You through forgetful days! 



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HE WAITS 

WHO, in thine hours of grief, 
Who brings thy soul relief? 
Thy gentle Lord with loving look 
and kind, — 
Thou needst not 'plain to Him 
Thy sores and sorrows grim. 

Thy deepest wound those tender eyes can find ! 

So in thy hours of glee 

Christ smiles and waits for thee. 

He waits to make thine every joy more fine. 
At Cana's wedding bright 
Who gave the last delight, 

Fills thy heart's cup with stronger, ruddier 
wine I 



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ST. JOHN AT EPHESUS 

ON Easter morn at Ephesus, the air 
Smelled quick with spring-tide, and the 
flooding sun 
Lit the wet land to sudden loveliness. 
In the broad civic square, a changing crowd 
Ebbed on its way, still draining, still renewed. 
Then on the sudden spying from afar 
A dear-loved form, one bright-eyed girl made 

pause 
With pointing hand, and her clear childish tone 
Shrilled through the din : " Tis John, he comes, 

'tis John." 
As when a rock, upheaving 'mid the stream, 
Parts the quick waters, — so to either hand 
Turned the dividing throng. The Christians glad 
Swept to the accustomed corner where the Saint 
Was wont to teach. — The Pagans, careless, pass, 
With but a curious glance to see him come. 
He walked, a man all lovely with the charm 
Of youth-in-age. — His locks were snowed with 

years, 
But the mild eye, the blessing of his look, 

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Told that his heart was young, — was young as 

Heaven. 
And as he came he called his own by name, 
And with a glance lit gladness in their eyes. 
And last, upmounted in his favorite chair, 
Blessed them all wide and smiling thus began: 
"My little children ! When I see you stand 
So dutiful, all listening round my chair, 
I am content. He bids me stay so long, 
(When all the rest are gone) and feed His sheep — 
Aye, and His little lambs, like Aeneas there. 
Come hither, child, and sit between my feet! — 
And thou, poor mother, give thy little son 
Into mine arms awhile, thou art o'erworn — 
Sol — When I sit among you thus, and see 
Your eager looks and think what best may feed 
The flames of Faith, and Hope and brightest Love 
In your dear hearts, of all that Jesus said, 
One sentence ever murmurs in my mind. 
One echoes on my lips. — Ye weary grow 
Perchance of hearing: 'Little children mine, 
Love one another' — ah, the height and depth. 
The strength, the light, the sweetness that doth lie 
In those brief words I They are the mighty half 
Of all His law, the whole of all your debt 
Towards all your brothers. By this simple word 
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Ye are a people set apart, — the world, 
The poor, dark, pagan world — doth gape and stare 
Upon your mutual love, and murmureth oft 
'How they love one another' in amaze — 
Not fathoming the fountains of your love, 
Not having known Love Crucified I How oft 
Hath this great blazing radiance. Charity, 
Been as a beacon shining 'midst the dark. 
To lead some wandering sheep into the fold, 
All cold and starved for Christian lovingness. 
Then be not, ye so rich in charity. 
As niggards with your bounty; spread afar 
This fire of love, this flame, this warming light, 
Which He hath lit for the whole world's consum- 
ing- 
Tire I came to cast upon the earth 
And will I not that it be kindled?' Still 
Hear pleading in your hearts that gentle voice, 
And fling abroad the flaming brand of love, 
A light unto the Gentiles beckoning on 
The darkened world. For fire is not consumed 
By kindling other fires, nor loseth light 
By shining; rather 'tis the starving fire. 
Which hath no more to kindle, that doth die. 
So shall your love grow greater when you love 
All men in Christ, your light shall lovelier shine 

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When it doth beam to all the shadowed world 
Which He hath died for. Love and love and 

love 
Is all the law! Love God in all, and all 
Alone in Him. Thus shall your lives and deeds 
Be fuel unto that heavenly fire that burns 
Through all the damps of death and leaps and 

glows 
Renewed eternal at the look of God." 



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The Four Gates 



DEEP WOUNDS 

WHEN tender limbs are rudely torn, 
A many friends there be 
To soothe the hapless wight forlorn 
With gentle sympathy. 

But, ah, the wounds the heart that tear 

Nor any hurt appears. 
One Friend — but one — can heal thee there 

Beneath the springs of tears I 



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I STAND AT THE DOOR AND 
KNOCK 

I ST AND at the door and knock, 
And there comes, to My listening ears, 
Sometimes revel and song. 
And sometimes a murmur of tears. 
But never they bid Me in, 

As I wait through the weary years. 

Do they scorn Me, or do they forget"? 

Ah, to forget Me is scorn I 
The world and the flesh enter free. 

But I am left waiting forlorn I 
Yet here I bide through the night. 

Even till judgment morn I 



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SPIRITUAL COMMUNION 

T^he Soul crieth to Jesus: 

THIS day I've not received Thee, 
Sad day of all the year, 
An evil chance bereaved me, — 
I miss Thy presence dear I 
Oft towards Thy distant altar 
My pleading accents falter 
To beg Thee hasten here I 

Then, from Thy far-off dwelling 

Thou leapest like a fire I 
Thy love — O all-compelling I — 

Hath heard my heart aspire. 
Ill-chance hath not bereaved me, — 
This day I've oft received Thee 

In unions of desire I 



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GIVE IT ME! 

I HEARD a child, — 'twas pleading low, 
For what wee boon I do not know, 
But ever and again I heard 
A sweet refrain repeated o'er, 
Like lap of wavelets on the shore, 

Or warble of a teasing bird; — 
"Now, dearest Father, give it me, 
'Tis but a little thing to thee !" 
Till father pledged his word. 

I took a lesson, — ^now, when I 

Would plead, with many a longing sigh. 

For somewhat from the skies; 
These words I whisper, like a child, 
Upturning to my Savior mild 

The prayer of pleading eyes : — 
" 'Tis but a little thing for Thee ! 
O gentle Jesus, give it me I" 

And kind my Lord replies ! 



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JESUS, MIGHTY LOVER 



J 



ESUS, mighty Lover, 
Victor all sublime, 
Bright Thine armies cover 



All the coasts of Time ! 
Lords of earthly empery 
Rule not, nor are loved like Thee. 

Throngs of martyrs, dying 

In Thy dearest name. 
For the tortures sighing, 

Flying to the flame, — 
Prove the fire's most fierce excess 
Than their eager love is less. 

Hosts of virgins, living 

Angel lives for Thee, 
Rich in utter giving. 

In Thy bonds most free, 
Join Thy sinless choirs above 
In their ecstasies of love. 



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Jesus, patient Lover, 

Bid us love Thee more; 

All Thy charms discover, 
All Thy grace outpour. 

Till our utmost heart's desires 

Kindle with Thy love's sweet fires! 



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DAWN AND EVEN 

IN the morning rise and say, 
"Jesus, on the altar lying, 
For the tardy peep of day 
Tenderly is sighing, 
Till I come and pray I" 

When the waning, fainting light 
Tells thee soon the day is going. 

Crown thy toils aright, 

Say: "My Lord, His peace bestowing, 

Waits to say good-night I" 



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THE STARRY MELODIES 

WHEN Even, on the skies, 
Doth write God's harmonies, 
And one by one pricks forth the golden 
bars, 
Then, from those linked fires. 
Loud hymn th' angelic choirs, 
Reading the flaming music of the stars. 

Our ears the music miss. 

Too gross for so much bliss. 
That else would wake a heaven in sinful man ! 

And all their skyey book 
A starry maze doth look. 

When our dim eyes the golden numbers scan. 

Unchanged those numbers bright 

Beam forth from night to night. 
Full clear hath writ the Heavenly Master's hand, 

His music's rapturous range 
Hath need of growth nor change, — 

Eternal-fair the starry concords stand! 



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Alas ! we cannot read 

How runs the sacred screed, 
Of orbed songs that thrall the seraph's eye I 

If we but learned to spell 
That mazy music well! — 

Of such sweet harmonies our soul would die, 
And melting to angelic strains of love, 

Leap up and mingle with the choirs above ! 



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THY VOICE 

THY voice is in my ears the livelong day. 
The world speaks for Thee, all the 
golden hours 
There is a wistful music, from the flowers, 
And o'er the rainy grass 
A whispering plea doth pass 
That calls, calls, calls me from the world away. 

Thou pleadest from the throngs that move and 

wait; 
Men's faces speak a questing, peer they on 
Yearning for distant joys beyond the dawn: 
Above the stars and sun 
They bid my musings run, 
Soar up, and seek Thee at the heaven's gate. 

My own heart speaks for Thee! It hears Thy 

call, 
'Tis pining ever for Thy coming joy. 
Naught can its restless ardors long employ — 
'Tis struggling to be free 
Leap up and rest in Thee 
Beyond the gyves of time, and chance and all ! 
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OUR YEARS 

OUR years like a gleam of light, 
Fleet past to the eyes of God; 
They are nothing in His sight, 
Who hath seen the ages plod. 
Wearing the vales away and humbling the hills 
from their height. 

Our days but glance and are gone, 
To the Ancient of Days who knows 
All the summers and snows 

That have been since the primal dawn. 
What are the years of a man? — like the wind that 
wavers and goes I 



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